Land of the Cosmic Race: Race Mixture, Racism, and Blackness in Mexico

Christina A. Sue

https://doi.org/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199925483.001.0001
Published: 2013 Online ISBN: 9780199332922 Print ISBN: 9780199925483

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CHAPTER

1 Introduction 
Christina A. Sue

https://doi.org/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199925483.003.0001 Pages 1–27

Published: February 2013

Abstract
This chapter provides an overview of the question driving the book – How do urban Mexican mestizos
negotiate race in their everyday lives amidst a powerful racialized national ideology? It also discusses
relevant literature including that related to race/ethnicity/color and national ideology in Latin
America. It provides a historical overview of the development of Mexican national ideology related to
race. It also includes a discussion of the research site and methodology as well as an overview of the
chapters.

Keywords: Race, Color, Mexico, Racial ideology, Latin America, Race mixture
Subject: Race and Ethnicity
Collection: Oxford Scholarship Online

LEADERS OF A NATION STRIVE to maximize their power and in uence. To this end, they often create a belief
system to justify, legitimize, and support their rule. They then disseminate these beliefs or ideologies to
their target audience—national constituents. In early twentieth-century Mexico, in the wake of the Mexican
Revolution, government o cials and intellectuals promulgated a national ideology geared toward fostering
nationalist sentiment, obliterating internal perceptions of racial inequality, and situating Mexico among the
league of modern nations. They exalted Mexico’s mestizo (mixed-race) population, declared Mexico free
from racism, and erased blackness from the image of the Mexican nation. One century later, these aspects of
Mexican racial ideology endure.

In 2005, the Mexican government issued a commemorative postage stamp featuring a popular black comic
1
book character, a boy named Memín Penguín (see Figure 1.1). United States government o cials and
African American leaders vehemently criticized Mexican o cials’ endorsement of what they considered to
2
be a racist image. Former U.S. presidential press secretary Scott McClellan stated: “Racial stereotypes are
o ensive, regardless of their origin…Images such as those of Memín do not have a place in the modern
3
world.” The charges of racism were ercely denied by Mexican government leaders. For example, former
Mexican presidential spokesperson Rubén Aguilar declared that, far from being racist, Memín promotes
 4
“family values and plurality.” This modern-day controversy not only highlights cross-national di erences
in understandings of race but also illustrates the persistence of Mexico’s o cial stance that the country is
free of racism.

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Figure 1.1 The comic book character, Memín Penguín, was included as part of a postage stamp series issued by the Mexican
government to commemorate Mexican comics.

5
Mexican national ideology serves as a powerful conceptual backdrop for non-elite Mexicans as they think
6
through and manage “race” in their everyday lives. However, in the process of constructing their identities
p. 2 and creating discourses about race, non-elite Mexicans often end up socially reproducing the national
belief system. Thus, the relationship between national ideology and popular thought is mutually
reinforcing. In this book, I focus on the non-elite side of this ideological equation. I show how urban
7
Mexican mestizos of mixed European, indigenous, and sometimes African heritage understand and
negotiate race and how these dynamics relate to Mexico’s o cial ideology. In doing so, I engage the broader
themes of racial identity, racial group-boundary construction, racial attitudes, interracial marriage and
multiracial family dynamics, racial discrimination, and racial inequality.
 Silviaʼs Story
8
Silvia is fty-four-years old. Her dark-brown skin and tightly curled hair suggest some African heritage. A
widow, Silvia lives alone in a small house on the outskirts of a working-class neighborhood in the Port of
p. 3 Veracruz, a city located on the Gulf Coast of Mexico. She spends her days working at a local day care
center and her free time enjoying the city. On occasion, Silvia visits the city’s most prominent attraction, the
beach, but avoids it when the sun is out. After several informal interactions, Silva agreed to be interviewed
and graciously invited me into her home for our conversation. We were joined by her older sister, Angelica,
who shares Silvia’s phenotype.

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Silvia articulated an unstable and intermittent black identity. When I asked directly about her racial
9
identi cation, she struggled to nd a term. When Angelica came to her aid, o ering “mestiza” as a
response, Silvia accepted the suggestion with a nod and then launched into a detailed description of her
maternal grandmother who was an “authentic Spaniard.” Only later did she drop a quick reference to her
black maternal grandfather. The tardiness of this admission was signi cant. In this conversation and
10
others, Silvia vacillated between describing herself as black (negra) and morena, a term that literally
translates to brown but that can function as a euphemism for the term black. When I asked Silvia directly
about her color, she described herself as “morena, but almost, almost black.” Then she laughed uneasily.
When characterizing the local population, she said, “The majority of us are moreno.” However, when
recounting a story of her love a air with an American, she informed me that his family was opposed to their
relationship because she is black. She described black people in Veracruz as being upbeat and liking to
dance, commenting that she is always compelled to dance when hearing music. However, Silvia discussed
Mexico’s history of African slavery entirely in the abstract. She did not claim this history as her own, nor did
she link it to her personal identity. In fact, Silvia mentioned that I would not nd many black people in the
Port of Veracruz because “they are in Jalapa,” the state’s capital.

Silvia’s connection to blackness strengthened during discussions of racism. She commented on her
childhood growing up in a mixed-color family, a common experience in Mexico. According to both Silvia
and Angelica, one of their white sisters used to call them a host of racial epithets such as “ugly, big-
mouthed blacks.” They described how this sister treated Angelica as her “black slave.” Even worse, their
own father engaged in di erential treatment, providing their lighter-skinned sisters with extra attention,
resources for furthering their education, and coveted luxury items. At this point in the conversation, Silvia’s
usual light-hearted demeanor had dissipated and was replaced with a somber and depressed tone.

Silvia’s relationship to her blackness is complex and her racial identity uid and situational. For example,
p. 4 while the term negra evoked strong negative emotions when discussing the treatment from her white
11
sister, it ooded Silvia with positive memories of her deceased husband, who called her negrita as a term
of endearment. Fondly resurrecting her husband’s memory, Silvia shared that he was “not too light or too
dark” and that he was lighter than she, a point she continually emphasized. Soon after describing him,
Silvia led me to a wall decorated with a few small, framed photographs of her husband. While I was looking
at the images, Angelica, seated on the couch, loudly stated: “He wasn’t moreno.” As if to decode her sister’s
message, Silvia clari ed: “He wasn’t black like me.” I leaned in to more closely inspect the photographs. I
could feel both Silvia and Angelica’s eyes upon me, awaiting my assessment of his color. I turned my head
toward Silvia and nodded, con rming, “He was lighter than you.” As if to signal an accomplished mission,
Silvia returned to her seat.

Later, I asked Silvia about her preferences for romantic partners. The ensuing exchange was punctuated
with giggles and jokes as the sisters playfully entertained ideas about potential partners for Silvia. After the
joking subsided, Silvia o ered a more serious response, saying she would like to marry a Veracruzano, but
not someone who is “very, very black.” She explained: “I am not racist, but what happens is that the people
 who are very, very, very black, very moreno, do not share…my chemistry.” Silvia was also unenthusiastic
about the idea of an indigenous partner, saying that she would rather remain single. In this instance, her
concern revolved around cultural, as opposed to “chemistry”-based incompatibilities. According to Silvia,
indigenous men do not allow women to work and have freedom.

Partner choice involves implications for potential o spring, a point of which Silvia was well aware.
Solidifying her position regarding the undesirability of a black partner, she explained: “If I had a child, and
he [the father] is black and with me being black, how is the baby going to come out? I thought about
that….The poor babies will later be called negros.” Referencing the child-care center where she works, Silvia
added: “It happens with everyone in the daycare. One little one tells another, ‘Get away negra’—‘You are
very black, get away from here.’” Silvia continued to provide examples of how color matters in Mexico,

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intent on demonstrating that her concerns are not a gment of her imagination. According to Silvia, not
only do lighter-skinned children think they are better than those with brown skin, but some of Silvia’s
coworkers also reinforce this perspective, favoring children with light skin and blue or green eyes and
withholding a ection from darker-skinned children.

Despite her lived experiences with discrimination, Silvia assured me that she does not feel inferior because
p. 5 of her color. To the contrary, she is proud. She asserted: “Well, I didn’t do what Memín Pinguín did, cover
12
my face with powder—or put power on myself like the black girl in the movie. What for? The blackness
isn’t going to come o of a person….I have always felt content with my color….” But as our conversation
wound down and I prepared to leave, I asked Silvia if I could take her picture. She consented but then quickly
excused herself, disappearing into her bedroom. When she emerged ready for the photograph, her face was
covered with a foundation makeup so light it gave the appearance of a white mask.

13 14
Silvia’s life story represents the main substantive themes of this book—mestizaje (race mixture), racism,
and blackness—in microcosmic form. It demonstrates how individuals negotiate these issues in Mexico, a
society that privileges whiteness and is strati ed by race and color. At a deeper level, Silvia’s narrative
exposes the entanglement of interconnected dynamics that surround race and color in Mexico. It touches
15 16
upon the broader issues of racial identity construction, racial attitudes, interracial marriage and family
17
dynamics, and racial discrimination. Moreover, it shows the dilemmas individuals face when negotiating
race and racism in a particular ideological context. As seen with Silvia, Mexicans’ lived experiences are
replete with attitudes and events that contradict Mexico’s national ideology, which asserts that race
mixture is positive and that racism is nonexistent and positions blackness outside the borders of the
imagined Mexican community. Individuals like Silvia are thus faced with the task of crafting a racial identity
and making sense of their everyday experiences within a complex web of ideological contradictions. This
book is largely concerned with the process through which individuals respond to, manage, and resolve the
dilemmas posed by these contradictions.

The context for the questions driving this book can be described as follows. A powerful national ideology
pervades Mexican society. This ideology not only communicates messages about race but also conveys ideas
about what it means to be Mexican. Within this context, Mexicans are constantly negotiating race in their
everyday lives, forming thoughts and discourses about race, and constructing their racial as well as their
national identities. Therefore, one wonders: How do individuals manage their identities, attitudes, and lived
experiences in the context of the national system of beliefs? Furthermore, how do they respond when their
identities, attitudes, and experiences contradict the national ideology? In answering these questions, I paint
a detailed picture of the process by which non-elite Mexicans develop and articulate a racial common sense
p. 6 —a popular understanding of race and color—within Mexico’s racialized ideological context. I show how
Mexicans navigate the sea of contradictions that arise when their lived experiences con ict with the
national stance and how their navigation strategies largely uphold, protect, and reproduce the national
ideology. Thus, I illustrate the mechanisms through which ideology and the social hierarchy are
18
reproduced.
 This book centralizes the racial common sense of Mexican mestizos. In Mexico, not only are mestizos the
numerically dominant group, but they also symbolize quintessential Mexicanness. As such, mestizos are the
primary targets and intended consumers of Mexican national ideology. Despite this, their role in the
19
Mexican story of race remains largely untold. Instead, studies have focused on the indigenous population
20
and the indigenous–mestizo boundary. This traditional emphasis has multiple consequences: (1) It
21
neglects the mestizo experience, which is representative of the vast majority of the Mexican population;
(2) it treats mestizo as a monolithic category, overlooking the role of color within this group; and (3) it
neglects the issue of blackness, both as a separate racial category and as an element of the mestizo
population (traditionally de ned as a Spanish–indigenous mixture). This book expands our knowledge of
the Mexican racial terrain by addressing color dynamics within the mestizo population and the question of

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blackness in Mexico.

Race, Ethnicity, and Color

To understand Mexican racial dynamics and related inequality, it is essential to address color (a term I use
to refer to various phenotypic markers including skin tone, hair texture, eye color, and facial features).
Despite this, scholars have virtually ignored the role of color in Mexican society. Instead, racial inequality is
22
typically analyzed through the lens of mestizos versus the indigenous. This approach neglects the
signi cant color-based strati cation within the mestizo category. A remnant from Mexico’s colonial past,
Mexico is a pigmentocracy in which light-skinned individuals with European features dominate the top
positions of society and dark-skinned individuals of indigenous or African descent are overrepresented at
23
the bottom rungs of society. In many regions of Mexico, light-skinned mestizos are much more likely to
own large companies, live in mansions, and possess the nest luxury goods, while dark-skinned mestizos
disproportionately experience life in casas de cartón (shanty housing) and struggle to put food on the table.
24
p. 7 This pigmentocratic arrangement is reproduced through contemporary practices of discrimination.
Despite these color-based realities, there has been little research on the topic. This book addresses this
shortcoming by illustrating how color matters in mestizo Mexico.

My emphasis on color dynamics among mestizos (i.e., dynamics within a racial-group boundary) has
important implications for how scholars think about race and ethnicity. In his seminal work, Fredrik Barth
(1969) challenged conventional scholarly wisdom, which viewed ethnic groups as culture-bearing units. He
proposed that, to better understand ethnicity, we should look at how ethnic-group boundaries are formed
and maintained. In other words, he encouraged an emphasis on “the ethnic boundary that de nes the group,
25
not the cultural stu that it encloses.” Scholars have subsequently turned their attention to racial- and
26
ethnic-group boundary dynamics. In Latin America, however, these boundaries are often uid and
ambiguous, making an exclusive focus on boundaries more di cult. Moreover, within-boundary and weak-
boundary dynamics play a major role in the creation and reproduction of inequality. In this book, I focus not
27
on the “cultural stu ” but on the color dynamics that exist within the boundaries of the mestizo category.

28
Scholars contentiously debate the analytic distinction between race and ethnicity and, more recently,
29
between race and color. In Latin America, the black experience is generally analyzed within the framework
of race, while indigenous populations are viewed from the perspective of ethnicity. However, there are a
number of problems with this division, including the fact that the category indian was intricately tied to the
30
emergence of the race concept. Therefore, I use race as an umbrella term to reference dynamics related to
both blackness and indigeneity. Furthermore, I treat color as an analytic subset of race.

The color hierarchy that exists in Mexico, a country in which the vast majority of the population is of mixed
heritage, was developed based on an orientation to the racialized categories of white, indigenous, and, to
some degree, black. Color has become salient precisely because racial ancestry is assumed to be relatively
 constant. In other words, a perceived similarity in racial makeup has heightened the importance of color as a
distinction-making marker; color, therefore, has become a proxy for the degree to which an individual
represents particular racial poles. For this reason, I treat color as one manifestation of race.

In the text I typically use color when emphasizing dynamics related to phenotype and race when speaking at
a broader and more abstract, analytic level. Following scholars who use terms such as ethno-racial to
31
p. 8 describe overlapping concepts, I frequently employ the single encompassing term race-color to
simultaneously reference racial and color dynamics. Due to the complex and slippery nature of the race
versus color distinction, there are instances in which I deviate from the aforementioned practices, but, in
these cases, I justify my reasoning through in-text or endnote references. When drawing from speci c
conversations with individuals or referring to the literature, I employ the terminology used in those

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contexts.

Ideology, Common Sense, and the Reproduction of Inequality

The stories and everyday discourses presented in this book illustrate how ideology functions in society and
how “racial formation” occurs at the microsocial level (Omi and Winant 1994). Understanding national
ideology and its inner workings is important due to its role in maintaining state hegemony and societal
32
power structures. Most groups in power do not rule through threat of force but instead encourage
33
subordinates to embrace a worldview or ideology that justi es the current social order. They use
“symbolic violence” (Bourdieu 2001) to create a system in which the dominated adopt the dominant point
of view. Therefore, at its core, the study of ideology is the study of power and inequality.

Scholars have theorized extensively about ideology, emphasizing how elites develop and maintain dominant
34
ideologies. However, ideology cannot survive without popular support; non-elites need to adopt and
35
continually reproduce ideology to ensure its success. In other words, although ideologies often represent
the social, economic, and cultural goals of a dominant group, the social force behind ideology lies in the
36
popular realm. Thus, popular-level conceptions of ideologies, often referred to as “common sense”
(Gramsci 1971), are central components of the process of ideological reproduction. Analysis of common
37
sense, as expressed through everyday discourse, illuminates how systems of domination are reproduced.
By focusing on common sense, this book exposes the popular-level mechanisms involved in the process of
ideological reproduction.

Ideology and common sense are complex social forces, steeped in contradiction. Not only are contradictions
38
present within national ideology itself, but also individuals’ lived experiences are oftentimes inconsistent
with elite ideology. Additional contradictions arise during the process through which elite ideology is
39
disseminated, received, and interpreted by the populace—or otherwise transformed into common sense.
p. 9 Thus, common sense ends up representing an amalgam of ideas derived from elite ideology and those
40
borne out of lived experience, producing a system wrought with disorganization and contradiction. Non-
elites are thus tasked with making sense of their identities, attitudes, and lived experiences amid this chaos.
In this book, I map out the internal life of the ideological realm, demonstrating how individuals engage in
“ideological work” (Berger 1981) through the deployment of a racial common sense that strategically
41
manages contradictions that arise between their lived experiences and their nation’s racial ideology.

The ways that non-elites manage ideological contradictions have important implications for systems of
inequality. Their strategies of ideological management can fuel the reproduction of an inequitable social
order, a process I highlight in this book. Under these conditions, social dominance becomes a cooperative
42
game. That being said, despite my emphasis on how non-elite Mexicans continuously create and deploy a
common sense that validates and legitimizes o cial ideology, this book is not a story about how citizens are
duped by their leaders into passively accepting elite ideology. Instead, it is a story about how Mexicans
 actively reproduce the national ideology, even when bombarded with social realities that contradict it. We
see how Mexicans carefully balance the symbolic importance of ideology with their lived realities and
cultivate a common sense that simultaneously protects the national ideology while avoiding a complete
invalidation of their identities and experiences. They creatively draw on particular aspects of national
43
ideology to construct their identities, understand the world around them, and make sense of their lives.

Nevertheless, the question provoked by my ndings remains: Why would non-elites facilitate their own
subordination? The traditional explanation, most closely associated with Karl Marx, is that of false
consciousness. This theory contends that the consciousness of the subordinate class obscures and
misrepresents the realities associated with its exploitation, thus preventing massive mobilization to
challenge systems of inequality. However, although the collective strategies and processes I outline often

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end up buttressing elite ideology and perpetuating racial inequality, I argue that the situation cannot be
explained with a false consciousness framework. In concluding the book, I propose an alternate
explanation, emphasizing the link between the reproduction of Mexico’s race-based national ideology and
the forti cation of individuals’ identities as Mexican. This connection is far from insigni cant, given the
p. 10 tentacular and powerful reach of Mexican nationalism.

Race and National Ideology in Latin America

44
National narratives strongly in uence how race operates at the popular level. In spite of this, the study of
state-sponsored racial ideology in Mexico has been largely neglected both in the sociological literature on
race and in the literature on race in Latin America. Regarding the former, the United States has represented
45
the paradigmatic case for sociological theorizing on race. Until recently, much less was known about how
race and racial ideology operate in Latin America. Within the Latin American context, race scholars have
concentrated on Afro-Latin America—countries such as Brazil and the Spanish-speaking Caribbean, which
are characterized by a black–white racial continuum. Mestizo America, which includes Mexico, Guatemala,
Peru, and other countries where racial dynamics primarily revolve around the indigenous–mestizo
distinction, has received less attention. We know little about race and related ideology in Mexico, despite the
fact that Mexico’s ideology of mestizaje has served as a model for similar ideologies throughout Latin
46
America.

Scholars such as van den Berghe (1967) view the relative neglect of the study of race in Mexico as justi ed.
In his classic theorization of comparative race relations, van den Berghe claims that Mexico represents an
exceptional “nonracial” system, where race has ceased to be meaningful. Furthermore, he writes: “…The
dual process of miscegenation and hispanization have so homogenized the Mexican population that race
and ethnic relations in the country have received scant attention from social scientists” (p. 42). Van den
47
Berghe’s stance helps explain the longstanding academic neglect on the topic. In this book, I work to ll
this void by presenting a comprehensive ethnographic account of how race-color and related discrimination
function in contemporary mixed-race Mexico. Before expounding on the details of my research, I present a
discussion of the origins and development of contemporary Mexican national ideology.
 Antecedents of Contemporary Mexican Racial Ideology: The Colonial
Period to the Revolution

Mexico’s experience with race dates back to the colonial period (1519–1821). Upon arrival to the Americas,
Spanish colonizers quickly erected socio-political institutions to facilitate the expansion, colonization, and
p. 11 control of the territory. As part of their colonization e orts, they created two republics—one for
Spaniards and one for the various indigenous groups that they encountered—to ensure their separation.
Although indians initially provided an important source of labor for the colonizers, their numbers soon
declined signi cantly due to war and disease. This loss of labor spurred the importation of Africans to
Mexico; slaves arrived throughout the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries, with the majority

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of imports occurring during the seventeenth century. Approximately 200,000 African slaves are estimated
to have reached Mexico’s shore, although this is likely an undercount because many slaves were imported
48
illegally. Slaves mainly entered Mexico through the port of Veracruz, although they later migrated
49
throughout the country. They primarily worked in mines, on sugar haciendas, as ranchers, and as
50 51
domestic servants. For much of colonial history, blacks outnumbered whites in Mexico.

Early in the colonial period, social contact between Europeans, indians, and Africans was regulated through
52
segregationist ideologies and practices, though segregation was di cult to enforce. The blurring of
53
boundaries that resulted from increasing race mixture concerned colonial authorities. As Katzew (2004)
notes: “The stability of the Spanish social order rested on the di erence between Spaniards and indians, the
maintenance of internal stability within each republic, and the e ective restriction of rights and obligations
of the Africans and the racially mixed. Policing ethnic boundaries was paramount for the preservation of the
Spanish body politic” (p. 40). In an attempt to maintain social order amid various degrees of mixture,
colonial authorities developed an elaborate caste system based on race, culture, and socioeconomic status.
In this system, Spaniards were positioned on top, followed by mixed-race individuals, and then indians and
54
Africans. Color played an important role in how individuals were treated within this classi cation scheme.

During the eighteenth century, casta paintings (visual representations of race mixture between indians,
55
Spaniards, and Africans) were commissioned by Spanish functionaries and exported to Europe. In addition
to illustrating taxonomy and exotic portrayals of the New World, these images categorizing individuals
based on their racial background, powerfully displayed the role of phenotype in socio-racial classi cation.
Unlike the caste system in India, however, the Spanish system did not rigidly structure social relations nor
56
was it strictly applied in the legal realm. The system survived until Mexico’s War of Independence (1810–
57
1821), at which time legal distinctions pertaining to race were abolished, along with slavery. Although the
58
caste system was abandoned, the value placed on whiteness remained.

p. 12 In the years following Mexico’s independence from Spain, leaders of the newly independent nation faced
the challenge of creating a uni ed citizenry in the wake of a highly segregated and hierarchical colonial
system. They were also tasked with delineating the characteristics of the new nation and de ning its
59
citizenry. Elites were particularly concerned with how to integrate the marginalized and impoverished
indigenous populations into this vision. Prominent liberal thinkers such as José Maria Luis Mora attributed
indigenous poverty to the paternalistic system and communal land orientation that existed during colonial
times. They believed that the nation could prosper only if indigenous communities lost their corporate
status and assimilated into the broader nation. Under this philosophy, leaders of a edgling Mexico
disbanded organizations aimed at protecting indigenous communities and revoked indigenous collective
60
land rights.

Mexican elites were also preoccupied with how to transform their country, which was bankrupt and had a
61
divided multiracial citizenry, into a prosperous, uni ed nation. The nation’s leaders, however, lacked a
clear vision regarding Mexico’s future, as seen in the ongoing struggle between liberals and conservatives.
 This antagonism reached a zenith in the mid-nineteenth century. As liberals gained power, they
implemented a series of laws and developed a constitution aimed at creating a federalist government,
secularizing the country, privatizing property, and establishing equality under the law. Internal strife
intensi ed as conservatives and those negatively a ected by these changes railed against them. From 1858
to 1861, under the contested presidency of Benito Juárez, a liberal and an indian, the country engaged in civil
war. In 1861, when the war ended, Juaréz was o cially declared president. However, the country was in
nancial ruin, and Juárez was forced to suspend payment on Mexico’s foreign debt, which resulted in a
French invasion and the establishment of a French monarchy in Mexico between 1864 and 1867. When the
French withdrew from the country and Juárez fully regained the presidency, his party was splintered and his
62
administration under re. The national treasury was debilitated and local strife plagued the country.

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Concerns that had haunted national leaders earlier that century—how to create a modern, developed, and
uni ed nation—remained.

These concerns came to a head in 1876 when Por rio Díaz ascended to the presidency. Many believed Díaz’s
63
rule would mark a turning point in Mexico’s long (yet unsuccessful) pursuit of modernity. Indeed, Dí az’s
reign (1876–1911) was characterized by an agenda of economic development and modernization, under the
p. 13 banner of “order and progress.” Although the goals of modernization and national uni cation remained
unchanged from previous years, the circumstances confronting Díaz were somewhat new. For example,
European scienti c racist thought, which equated whiteness with progress and indigeneity, blackness, and
racial hybridity with backwardness, was gaining international momentum. European theorists viewed a
64
country’s racial composition as a major predictor of its capacity for growth and civilization. Although
Por rian intellectuals varied in their interpretations of scienti c racism, many espoused ideas of white
65
superiority. In their eyes, Mexico’s mixed and predominately nonwhite population was blocking the
66
country’s progress.

In response, Porfírio Díaz and his technocrats implemented oppressive practices targeting the indigenous
population, including forceful assimilation, land privatization, and the dispossession of indigenous
67
communities. Furthermore, they actively recruited European immigrants in hopes of whitening (and thus
68
modernizing) the country. However, Díaz’s e orts fell short. His socioeconomic policies generated
69
increasing social unrest and his attempts to attract European immigrants largely failed. New solutions
were in order. Shortly after the turn of the twentieth century, intellectuals such as Justo Sierra, Andrés
Molina Enríquez, and Manuel Gamio had already begun challenging Eurocentric racist views by extolling the
70
virtues of the mestizo. This trend foreshadowed a signi cant shift in the o cial stance on race—a change
originating during the tumultuous period of the Mexican Revolution (1910–1920).

The Mexican Revolution and Post-revolutionary Racial Ideology

Por rio Díaz’s relentless and uncompromising quest for modernization exacerbated social inequality;
wealth, power, and land were concentrated in the hands of foreigners and a few Mexican metropolitan
71
elites. Toward the end of Díaz’s reign, real wages declined; mining, timber, and textile industries
experienced a signi cant downturn, leaving many workers unemployed; and agriculture su ered, leading to
72
widespread famine and food riots. Díaz, abiding by his belief in the free market, provided little relief for
the Mexican people. Conditions were ripe for a massive uprising. In 1910, the country erupted in civil
warfare.

Revolutionaries came from all walks of life and levels of society, united by anti-Díaz sentiment and a social
justice agenda. In 1911, Dí az stepped down and Francisco I. Madero assumed the presidency. However, social
p. 14 turmoil increased as Madero continued to privatize landholdings and marginalized his most powerful
supporters, including Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata, by not a ording them a prominent role in the new
 73
political scene. Law and order broke down as popular protests swept across the country. Much of the
revolutionary activity took place in the rural and the indigenous areas that were hardest hit by land
privatization policies. During the course of the Revolution, Mexico also endured two U.S. military invasions
of its territory.

After ten years of political chaos and much bloodshed, the Mexican Revolution came to a close. Post-
revolutionary leaders faced the di cult task of repairing the damage done by the war and rebuilding the
country. They needed to tackle the issue of indigenous marginalization, which had come to the fore during
74
the Revolution. Further complicating matters, post-revolutionary elites were forced to contend with the
still prominent theories of scienti c racism, which deemed Mexico’s largely nonwhite, racially mixed
population as a barrier to modernization. Additionally, they faced the challenge of uniting a once-again

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divided citizenry and fostering national pride in the war’s aftermath. The task of creating a coherent nation
75
had never been more daunting.

The nation’s problems, brought to the fore by the Revolution and the dilemmas posed in its aftermath,
spawned new thinking on race and a new national ideology. The guiding principles of post-revolutionary
leaders included integrating all Mexicans into the nation and rejecting foreign in uence over Mexico.
76
Mexican leaders were determined to cultivate their source of strength from within. In contrast to the
forced assimilation of the indigenous population imposed during Díaz’s reign, post-revolutionary elites
pursued non-coercive policies aimed at respecting indigenous culture and integrating indians into the
77
national community. The indigenous population, long considered an obstacle to the country’s progress,
was valorized for its historical contribution to Mexican society and as an ancestral root of the mestizo
78
population; indigenous heritage became a mark of national distinction.

Three Pillars of Post-revolutionary Ideology

These changes in elite thought on race served as a basis for the development of Mexico’s post-revolutionary
national ideology, which included the following ideological pillars: (1) mestizaje, the embracement of race
79
mixture and lauding of the mestizo; (2) nonracism, the contention that racism does not exist in the
80 81
country; and (3) nonblackness, the marginalization, neglect, or negation of Mexico’s African heritage.
p. 15 Not only did these pillars emerge in response to changing perspectives on race, but they were also
instrumental in solving the dilemmas posed by scienti c racism and national disunity.

Pillar 1: Mestizaje
Post-revolutionary elites challenged traditional views of scienti c racism, which equated racial hybridity
with racial inferiority, by reframing race mixture as something positive and arguing that the mestizo
82
represented a culturally and biologically superior race. Furthermore, they touted hybridity as a national
83
asset, a shared characteristic that should engender pride among all Mexicans. The mestizaje ideology
provided the basis for a much needed sense of national unity and became a rallying point for nationalist
84
sentiment. Through this process, racial ideology became fused with understandings of national identity;
85
the mestizo was lauded as the quintessential Mexican.

José Vasconcelos, Mexican writer, philosopher, and politician, popularized the ideology of mestizaje. In his
classic text The Cosmic Race ([1925]1997), Vasconcelos predicted the global dominance of the mestizo race.
Rather than simply espousing mestizaje-centered rhetoric in intellectual circles, his appointment as
Minister of Education (1921–1924) provided him the opportunity to institutionalize and widely disseminate
his vision. During his tenure, Vasconcelos built schools, created institutes, and sent cultural missionaries to
86
remote parts of the country to provide schooling for rural, indigenous populations. The nationalized
87
Mexican education system became a central vehicle for the transmission of state ideology to the populace;
 teachers became the soldiers of the Revolution. The explicit purpose of the national curriculum was to create
88
a new Mexican identity, foster a love of country, and inculcate an o cial historical narrative. Vasconcelos
89
also supported a national mural movement that glori ed the revolutionary ideals. The mestizaje ideology,
which continues to exist, was intricately linked to the development of another pillar of Mexican national
ideology—the belief that the country is free of racism.

Pillar 2: Nonracism
As in other parts of Latin America, Mexico’s mestizaje ideology provided the basis for an ideology of
nonracism. Government o cials and intellectuals argued that racism cannot exist in a racially mixed
90

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society. Driven by this belief, elites concluded that there was no need to document race and thus removed
91
p. 16 the race question after Mexico’s 1921 census. Like the mestizaje ideology, the nonracism pillar was
instrumental in cultivating nationalist sentiment. Drawing on a tried and true nation-building strategy,
92
Mexican leaders deployed symbolic boundaries in relation to an external “other” against which all
93
Mexicans could assert their opposition. The United States represented a convenient “other,” especially
given the outcome of the Mexican–American War (1846–1848) in which the United States acquired
94
substantial Mexican territory. The ames of anti-American sentiment were further fanned by Díaz’s pro-
foreign stance and the U.S. military interventions that took place during the Revolution.

Post-revolutionary elites capitalized on the contentious nature of U.S.–Mexico relations, positioning

Mexico as the symbolic nemesis to the United States in the realm of race relations. Designating the United
States as the epitome of racism was an easy task given the segregationist racial practices in existence in the
U.S. South during that time. Mexican elites argued that the mixed-race nation of Mexico, unlike the United
95
States, was free from the racist virus. As with the mestizaje ideology, the nonracism pillar was tied to
understandings of nation—being Mexican signi ed not engaging in racism and living in a country where
racism did not exist. More importantly, Mexican elites worked to foster a strong sense of national pride
surrounding the characterization of Mexico as a nonracist nation. Over the course of the twenty and twenty-
rst centuries, Mexican intellectuals such as Luis Cabrera (1977), Alfonso Caso (1971), and Enrique Krauze
(2009, 2011), have continued to contend that Mexico is free of racism.

Pillar 3: Nonblackness
The nal pillar, nonblackness, represents the minimization or erasure of blackness from the Mexican
national image, both as a separate racial category and as a component of the mestizo population. Mexican
leaders reclaimed the country’s indigenous past as part of nation-building e orts but largely ignored blacks
96
in these new narratives, a pattern seen in other countries within mestizo America. Mexico’s nonblackness
ideology was strongly tied to the mestizaje pillar, as blacks were perceived as having been absorbed into the
97
population through the process of race mixing. The post-revolutionary ideology of mestizaje clinched the
98
belief that the black population had disappeared through biological and cultural integration; not only did
the mestizaje ideology bolster the notion that extensive race mixture had taken place, but it also constructed
the mestizo as the by-product of a Spanish–indigenous mixture.

p. 17 Thus, the nonblackness pillar signals both a marginalization of the historic role of blacks in Mexico and a
negation of the African heritage of Mexico’s mixed-race population. At best, blackness has been treated as
an element of Mexico’s population on a trajectory toward disappearance (Vasconcelos [1925]1997) or as a
regional issue (i.e., a ecting states such as Veracruz) but not constituting a “national problem” (Cabrera
1977: 281). The fact that there has been no o cial measurement of the black population in Mexico since
Independence reinforces these assumptions. As with the other two pillars, because the nonblackness
ideology was consolidated in the context of nation-building e orts, it has implications for understandings
of nation—being Mexican means not being black.
 The erasure of the African element in Mexican national consciousness continued throughout the “cultural
99
phase” of the Mexican Revolution (1920–1986). Even in current Mexican society, blackness does not exist
100
in the collective imaginings of the nation. It should be noted, however, that the nonblackness pillar is less
central to Mexican national ideology compared with the mestizaje and nonracism pillars. It is more of a
latent ideology, which surfaces from time to time, without guring as prominently on the national
ideological landscape.

The ideological pillars of mestizaje, nonracism, and nonblackness remained prominent throughout the
101
twentieth century and are still alive today. To provide just one example, during the 1990s, in reports
submitted to the United Nations (UN) International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial
Discrimination, a global organization dedicated to combating racism, the Mexican government cited the

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absence of racism in Mexico as a justi cation for not implementing antiracist legislation. The report
referenced Mexico’s mixed-race population as evidence that racism does not exist. This same report
reproduced the nonblackness pillar by de ning Mexico’s mestizo population as a Spanish–indigenous
102
mixture.

The Whitening Undercurrent and Embedded Contradictions

The valorization of whiteness seen during colonial times and throughout the nineteenth century, persist in
post-revolutionary Mexico, despite the symbolic centering of mixed-race individuals. Similar to other
103
regions of Latin America, the ideology of mestizaje and the privileging of whiteness comfortably coexist.
This compatibility can be seen in the original conceptualization of mestizaje ideologies. Early twentieth-
century Latin American leaders not only treated mestizaje as bene cial in terms of producing a superior
p. 18 mestizo race but also viewed it as an avenue for whitening through the eventual elimination of blacks and
104
indians. Thus, post-revolutionary ideology possessed a strong undercurrent valorizing whiteness, a
dynamic that is still prevalent in contemporary Mexico.

The coexistence of whitening and mestizaje philosophies illustrates how ideologies themselves house
internal contradictions. On the surface, the mestizaje discourse appears to challenge notions of white
superiority; in fact, it was touted as a great homogenizing and equalizing force. However, one of the primary
motivations behind the ideology was to whiten the population-at-large and “bleach out” Mexico’s
nonwhite populations. Also contradictory is the fact that, while the mixed-race, brown-skinned individual
became the esteemed national representative, the white phenotype was (and still is) very much prized.
Further contradiction surrounds the nonracism and mestizaje pillars. Although the nonracism ideology
presumes an explicit rejection of race-driven thought, mestizophiles employed scienti cally racist notions
to justify mestizo superiority. In other words, rather than challenging biological understandings of race,
they simply rearranged the racial hierarchy, placing mestizos on top. Given these internal inconsistencies,
not only do non-elites need to manage contradictions that arise between their lives and the national
ideology, but they also need to deal with the contradictions present in the ideologies themselves.

This book speaks to such complexities by identifying the processes through which Mexicans negotiate race-
color in their everyday lives and how they do so within an ideological terrain littered with contradiction. It
addresses questions such as: How do individuals construct their identities in an ideological context that
privileges whiteness while simultaneously touting brown-skinned mestizos as the Mexican prototype? How
do individuals interpret the widespread societal preference for light-skinned partners within the context of
a pro-mixture national ideology? How do individuals in intercolor relationships and members of mixed-
105
color families negotiate color? How do Mexicans reconcile the existence of Mexicans of African descent in
a nation where the term “black Mexican” is an oxymoron and where mestizo is de ned as a Spanish–
indigenous mixture? Moreover, how do Mexicans of African descent construct their identities in this
 context? Finally, how do Mexicans make sense of their experiences with racism in a country where these
experiences are not supposed to exist? In addressing these questions, I demonstrate how Mexicans use
complex strategies to manage contradictions in a way that leaves the national ideology intact and
p. 19 simultaneously reinforces their Mexican identity.

Research Site and Methodology

I collected ethnographic data between 2003 and 2005 in the cities of the Port of Veracruz and Boca del Río,
both located in the metropolitan area of Veracruz. Each region in Mexico has a unique history and racial

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make-up. The Veracruz population is descended from Europeans, indians, and Africans. The vast majority
of the population is mestizo, although there is a very small indigenous population (which is fairly
106
comparable to similarly sized metropolitan areas). The most unique element of the Veracruz racial
landscape is its African root. The Port of Veracruz was the major gateway for the African slaves brought to
107 108
Mexico, and the more recent arrival of Cuban immigrants, many of African descent. Because of this
regional history, a higher proportion of the Veracruz population is of African descent compared with most
109
other regions of Mexico. Furthermore because of the regional connection between Veracruz and the
110 111
Caribbean (Cuba in particular), Veracruz is associated with blackness in the national consciousness, a
dynamic I discuss further in chapter 6.

The Veracruz metropolitan area is an interesting site to study race and color for a variety of reasons. First,
the population’s mixed European, indigenous, and African heritage results in the manifestation of a wide
range of racial dynamics. Furthermore, there is much phenotypic variation within the mixed-race
population, lending itself to the study of color. Consistent with many other regions in Mexico, the
phenotype of Veracruz mestizos ranges from individuals with very light skin and European features to those
with very dark skin and clearly de ned indigenous or African-origin features. Like in Mexico more broadly,
these color distinctions correlate with di erent positions in the socioeconomic hierarchy. Although some
mixed-race Veracruzanos have features suggesting African ancestry, most fall within the general range of
phenotypes common to mestizos in other regions of Mexico. Finally, the urban, cosmopolitan nature of
Veracruz facilitates the transmission of national ideology to the populace and studying a setting such as
Veracruz can help us understand how race and color operate in urban Mexico. Much of our knowledge on
race is derived from studies of rural areas despite the fact that over three-fourths of Mexicans live in urban
112
areas.

My ndings are primarily based on thirteen months of participant observation and 112 semi-structured
interviews conducted in Veracruz. While living in the area, I interacted with, observed, and participated in
the daily lives and activities of Veracruzanos both in public and private settings. Participant observation
p. 20 allowed me to explore the everyday importance of race and color as it arose naturally in the eld, while
interviews allowed me to understand how Veracruzanos discursively deal with these issues. My interview
113
sample was generated using the snowball technique, a form of convenience sampling. I purposely
selected respondents who vary in terms of color, age, class, education, gender, and neighborhood to tap into
114
various kinds of experiences. Each interview lasted between one and three hours; the broad goal was to
understand how Veracruzanos experience, perceive, and frame issues related to race and color. Interview
questions covered the topics of racial and color identity construction and classi cation, racial stereotypes,
attitudes on race mixture, understandings of blackness, and experiences with and perceptions of racism and
color discrimination, among other things.

I supplemented interview data with that gathered in ve focus groups (involving four to seven participants)
where I screened the 1948 Mexican lm classic Angelitos Negros (Little Black Angels), a mainstream Mexican
115
cultural icon. In this lm, a famous singer courts and marries a blond woman whose African heritage has
 been hidden from her. When their rst child is born black, she is rejected by her white mother. This lm
provides an excellent research tool in that it confronts the frequently silenced issues of racism and
blackness in Mexico. After screening the lm, I allowed for open discussion among the group members and
then posed a few general questions such as:

• Which character do you empathize with and why?

• Did what happened in the movie resonate with any of your personal experiences or the experiences of
someone you know?

• Do you think this movie addresses issues that exist today in Mexico?

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Finally, I administered 105 student surveys about race and color to students at a low-income, public high
school where two of my main informants worked. The survey included questions such as:

• What race do you consider yourself?

• What color do you consider yourself?

• For you, what is racism?

• Have you or someone you know had problems with racism?

• Have you witnessed another person being discriminated against because of his or her color?

• Do you think color discrimination exists in Mexico?

• Do you think racism exists in Mexico?

p. 21 The vast majority of my respondents asserted a mixed-race heritage and would therefore be o cially
classi ed as mestizo. However, they often did not use the term mestizo to describe themselves, a nding I
discuss in chapter 3. None of the people I interviewed (with possibly one exception) met the o cial criteria
for being a member of the indigenous population (e.g., speaking an indigenous language, living in an
indigenous community, or practicing indigenous traditions). Approximately one- fth of my respondents
were considered to be part black or black by other Veracruzanos, although self-identi cation within this
group varied, a topic I cover in chapter 6.

I primarily refer to respondents using color descriptors, except when I am explicitly examining processes of
identity construction or when other classi cation markers are directly relevant to the discussion. Although
it is customary to gauge race based on self-identi cation, I use color descriptors because they more directly
116
re ect individuals’ positions in the race-color hierarchy and how they are treated in society, dynamics of
central concern to my research. I classi ed each respondent using the following color categories: light,
117
light-brown, medium-brown, and dark-brown. These descriptions are not meant to be de nitive but
instead are used to give readers a general idea of where individuals fall on the Veracruz race-color
continuum. When making group-level distinctions, I sometimes refer to brown-skinned mestizos or brown-
skinned individuals, a reference encompassing those with a light-brown to dark-brown hue, and light-
skinned mestizos or light-skinned individuals, referring to those whom I classi ed as light. When possible, I
translate race-color terminology into English for ease of reading, although I retain the Spanish term in
cases where an English translation does not adequately capture the appropriate meaning (e.g., when race-
color terms are used in the form of a noun). Rough translations of local race-color terms are gü ero/a,
blanco/a (white); claro/a (light); moreno claro/a, apiñ onado/a (light brown); moreno/a (brown); moreno
118
oscuro/a (dark brown); negro/a (black); mestizo/a (mixed race); and indígena/indio (indigenous or indian).
When Veracruzanos reference an individual or group in a particular way, I use their terminological
classi cations. I discuss terminology in more depth in chapter 2.
 Fieldwork Issues
Gaining access in Veracruz was relatively easy. In my initial trip, I was accompanied by a family from the
state of Jalisco who had local contacts in the area. Through these contacts I was able to locate a room for
p. 22 rent in a house owned by Sandra and Pepe, two high school teachers. Over the course of three weeks, I
spent time getting acquainted with Veracruz, establishing a social network, and collecting preliminary data.
I then exited the eld and returned within a year for a twelve-month period. On this trip I was accompanied
by my partner. We initially stayed with Sandra and Pepe and later found an apartment. Despite my exit from
their home, Sandra and Pepe served as main informants throughout my time in the eld. They facilitated
my entrée into various communities and invited me into their social circles. They were particularly helpful
in introducing me to members of the education community and various school settings.

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Early in my eldwork I made concerted attempts to integrate myself into a variety of social networks. These
e orts culminated in the development of three additional “sets” of main informants. Each set of informants
led very di erent lives; they were located in di erent parts of the city and were positioned di erently in
terms of occupation, educational background, family structure, and color composition. Jorge and Mía, a
dentist and a nurse, respectively, and their two daughters lead a typical middle-class lifestyle. This family
was instrumental in orienting me to Veracruz and helping me establish local contacts during my initial
months in the eld. Also helpful was Laura, a working-class single mother of two, who mans a newspaper
stand owned by her mother. I spent many hours with Laura, becoming well acquainted with her family as
well as her broad customer base. Finally, I met Anahí and Martín at a party organized by Laura’s sister.
Martín is a navy captain, and Anahí is a stay-at-home mother of two. Martín was resourceful in helping me
gain access to his closed occupational circle while Anahí integrated me into her family’s daily activities and
included me in her many social gatherings. Out of these networks, my own social network emerged.
Although this network introduced me to the lives of many working-, middle-, and upper-middle class folks,
it did not extend into the top social strata of Veracruz.

Wealthy Veracruzanos proved more di cult to access. I found members of the upper class to be initially
guarded and suspicious toward me and my research. My access was also constrained by structural barriers.
For example, upper-class men are often involved in the management of companies or businesses and work
long hours. Therefore, most of my contact was with upper-class women. Furthermore, the socially exclusive
and insular nature of wealthy neighborhoods and social clubs was not conducive to informal observation.
Despite these barriers, I eventually gained access to members of the Veracruz upper class and was able to
p. 23 interview approximately twenty individuals of this social stratum. Much of my success was due to the
persistence of two “advocates,” themselves members of the upper class: Carolina, a homemaker and
member of Veracruz high-society; and Lili, a homemaker residing in the wealthiest neighborhood in
Veracruz. I met Carolina one day when she drove up to Laura’s newspaper stand to buy a magazine. She later
introduced me to Lili. These women went to great lengths to introduce me to their friends and family.
During the process, they encountered many barriers and expressed much frustration over the inaccessibility
of their social networks.

My relationships with respondents varied immensely. In some cases, we interacted on a daily basis and
developed strong bonds of friendship; with others, my main contact was in the interview setting. Typically, I
conducted interviews after intermittent to sustained informal interaction with individuals. The variation in
the kinds and intensity of relationships re ects the large urban setting of my eld site and my attempt to
learn from people located in di erent neighborhoods, institutional settings, and socioeconomic positions.
In other words, as opposed to the traditional anthropological model of studying a small community, where
it is feasible to have sustained contact with most informants, the urban setting of Veracruz produced a
variety of researcher-informant relationship models.
 Positioning Myself
One’s position vis-à -vis his or her respondents always plays a role in the research process and the kind of
data gathered. I am a U.S. citizen who self-identi es as biracial (Chinese–white). My racial identity was
ambiguous to Veracruzanos, although they did not typically identify me as part Chinese. Many respondents
assumed I am Mexican American because of my Spanish uency and Mexican partner. Regardless of the
ambiguity surrounding my racial status, Veracruzanos clearly viewed me as a light-skinned “American.”
They placed me in the ranks of the middle- or upper-middle class (an accurate assessment) and recognized
my status as well educated because of my role in the eld.

All positionalities have bene ts and drawbacks. The methods literature has traditionally focused on the

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119 120
bene ts of racial “insider” status, although newer scholarship explicates racial “insider” limitations
121
and the bene ts of “outsider” status. In my experience, my outsider status created some initial barriers
in terms of access and the development of rapport. However, my nationality and skin color also granted me
certain unanticipated eldwork privileges. Having light skin and holding U.S. citizenship are markers of
status in Mexico. In Veracruz, a highly status-conscious society, individuals are eager to associate, and be
p. 24 associated with, individuals of high status. This dynamic worked to my advantage, allowing me to access
and participate in a wide variety of social networks and settings. Furthermore, I discovered (rather late in
my eldwork) that upper-class respondents felt an a nity with me based on our mutual engagement in
activities that marks one as “cultured,” such as traveling to particular places or visiting speci c cultural
sites. I was able to use my cultural capital to open doors and establish rapport in that community. My status
as a national outsider brought other advantages. I was able to ask the “stupid” questions or those in which
the answers would be presumed obvious to any Mexican. For example, I had the freedom to ask “Who is
Benito Juárez?” and “What does moreno mean?” without expectations that I should already know the
answer. I was also permitted to engage in detailed inquiry about Veracruz society, in a way that an insider
would not. Furthermore, my performed role as an ignorant outsider solicited highly detailed, in-depth
responses and explanations to my questions.

Finally, my position as a young, married, female student also enhanced my access. Many Veracruzanos feel
a moral obligation to assist others in the pursuit of education. Older individuals took it upon themselves to
watch over me, in a protective role that is oftentimes reserved for daughters. Because of the intersection of
my age and gender, I often found myself in situations in which men were explaining or enlightening me
about particular subjects. These power-laden conversations, although not always pleasant, elicited a wealth
of information. On the ip side, Veracruzanas would frequently invite me into their private, all-female
social circles, providing yet another window into Veracruz life. The fact that I was married to a working-
class Mexican man with brown skin also in uenced how I was viewed and treated in the eld. His presence
broke down a number of barriers, facilitating my entrée and development of rapport in various
communities. However, because I was married to a Mexican, I was also often expected to understand and
conform to Mexican gender roles. That being said, my “American” status shielded me from full
expectations of gender norm conformity and provided some protection in cases when I breached the norms.
Still, I was careful to not stray too far beyond the boundaries of social expectations.
 Plan of the Book

In chapter 2, I map out Veracruz’s complex race-color terminological terrain, providing a broad overview of
p. 25 the usages and connotations of common race-color terms. I also address methodological issues
surrounding the use of race and color when conducting research in Latin America, demonstrating how, by
employing both terms in the eld, I was able to capture conceptual folk distinctions and the implications of
such distinctions. For example, I show how Veracruzanos de ne racial classi cation as racist and assert
color as opposed to racial identities. I also detail how race-color terms function on a continuum and how
related labels convey broader meanings related to class and attractiveness. This chapter lays the conceptual
and practical groundwork for understanding the terminology used throughout the book.

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Chapter 3 highlights the process of mixed-race identity construction, honing in on the mestizaje ideological
pillar. I describe how individuals manage their race-color and national identities amid the mestizaje pillar,
the high value placed on whiteness, and the image of the prototypical Mexican as having brown skin and
being of mixed European–indigenous heritage. I show how these management strategies di er by color.
Light-skinned mestizos wed themselves to the nation by claiming a mixed-race status at little to no social
cost, whereas brown-skinned mestizos frequently highlight their European origins to position themselves
closer to whiteness. Albeit in di erent ways, both groups draw upon national ideology to construct their
identities as mixed-race.

Also engaging the mestizaje pillar, chapter 4 addresses mestizos’ attitudes toward interracial relationships.
Here I examine the degree to which individuals conform to the pro-mixture ideological stance and how they
manage attitudes that con ict with this perspective. I, once again, show how individuals’ perspectives
diverge by color. Brown-skinned mestizos view race mixture as advantageous when used as a vehicle to
achieve whiteness, whereas light-skinned mestizos generally reject interracial relationships as a strategy to
preserve their whiteness. Therefore, Veracruzanos embrace race mixture under speci c circumstances but
do not embrace it whole heartedly. However, individuals of all colors justify and frame objections to
particular interracial pairings in a way that protects the national ideological pillars of mestizaje and
nonracism.

Chapter 5 is the behavioral counterpart to chapter 4. In this chapter I present the perspectives and
experiences of individuals engaged in intercolor relationships or who are members of mixed-color families.
I diverge somewhat from the format of other chapters that emphasize the relationship between popular
common sense and elite ideology. Instead, I interrogate the governmental, scholarly, and popular belief that
p. 26 racism is incompatible with race mixture (i.e., the conceptual interconnection of the mestizaje and
nonracism pillars) by carefully examining dynamics within intercolor couples and mixed-color families, the
symbolic vanguards of antiracism. In exposing the extremely pernicious and intimate forms of race-color
prejudice and discrimination housed in these intimate interracial social units, I challenge Mexican national
ideology, academic thought, and popular belief that conceptually equates race mixture with a lack of racism.

Chapter 6 focuses on the ideological pillar of nonblackness that minimizes and excludes blackness from the
image of the Mexican nation. My discussion elucidates the myriad contradictions that Veracruzanos of
visible African descent and the Veracruz region (given its association with blackness) present to this
ideology. I illustrate how people of African descent manage their identities in an ideological context of
nonblackness by evading a stable black identity. Furthermore, I show how all Veracruzanos collectively
participate in distancing both their state and the nation from blackness, thereby reproducing the national
ideology. They accomplish this by de ning racialized blackness as foreign and by positioning Afro-Cubans
and African Americans as representatives of authentic blackness. Finally, the chapter demonstrates how
local attempts to reinvent blackness have failed, signaling the power that national ideology has to squelch
emergent counter-discourses.
 Chapter 7 examines the relationship between Veracruzanos’ racial common sense and the nonracism
ideological pillar. I show how people manage contradictions between their experiences with racial
discrimination and a race-color hierarchy and the ideology of nonracism by silencing critical race talk,
erecting symbolic boundaries vis-à-vis the United States, and deploying nonracism discursive frames. I
demonstrate that individuals of all hues engage in strategies that protect the national ideology, even if it is
seemingly not in their best interest to do so. I end the chapter by discussing the implications of these
somewhat counterintuitive ndings for theories on racial attitudes.

I conclude the book by proposing an answer to a major question provoked by many of my ndings: Why do
individuals expend such e ort to defend and protect a government-sponsored ideology that con icts with
their own lived experiences, particularly when it appears contrary to their best interest? I explicitly reject a

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false-consciousness interpretation of this conundrum, arguing that it is essential to recognize the deeply
intertwined relationship between Mexican racial ideology and nation-building e orts—a relationship that
has spawned a deep-seated conceptual and emotional interconnection between understandings of race and
p. 27 nation. Put simply, by reproducing Mexican racial ideology, Mexicans reassert their Mexicanness.
Understanding this piece of the puzzle is crucial to grasping the meaning and motivation behind Veracruz
racial common sense. In the epilogue, I provide a brief discussion of Mexican national ideology as it stands
at the beginning of the twenty- rst century.

Notes
1. This was part of a broader series of postage stamps issued to commemorate Mexican comic books. The still popular comic
book was first published in 1947 and has been exported to many Latin American countries.
2. Memín is reminiscent of derogatory figures used in reference to African American children in the U.S. South in the 1900s.
Memín was modeled a er a Cuban child and therefore “speaks” with a coastal or Caribbean accent.
3. El Dictamen, 7/1/05.
4. El Dictamen, 7/1/05.
5. I define elites as government o icials and state-sponsored intellectuals and non-elites as members of the populace who
are not in charge of creating national ideology. I define national ideology as the ideology promulgated by elites (as defined
above). I use the terms national ideology, o icial ideology, elite ideology, dominant ideology, and state-sponsored ideology
interchangeably.
6. The use of quotation marks signals that race (like related terms) is a social construction. However, I drop this practice in
the remainder of the text for ease of reading.
7. Although mestizo typically refers to individuals of European and indigenous heritage, I include individuals of partial
African descent in this category because my respondents of African descent identified as mixed race.
8. All names are pseudonyms.
9. In Spanish, words characterizing specific individuals end in an “a” to reference a female and an “o” to reference a male.
10. Because of the ambiguity surrounding the term moreno, I sometimes leave the term in Spanish. I further discuss the
meaning of the term in chapter 2.
11. Negrito/a is the diminutive form of negro/a. The literal translation of the noun-form of these terms is “blackie.” However,
negrito/a and negro/a have various connotations, including ones related to endearment, paternalism, or derogatory
sentiment. The diminutive form is typically used to emphasize endearment or paternalism. Because the English
translation does not capture these varied connotations and because the term “blackie” is rarely used in English, I leave
these terms in Spanish.
12. She is referring to Angelitos Negros, a movie where a black girl puts white powder on her face because she is unhappy with
her color.
13. Throughout the text, I use the term race mixture as a translation for mestizaje, and use these terms interchangeably. I
consider race mixture to be an umbrella term that includes both interracial and intercolor mixture.
14. In the text I use the term racism as an umbrella term to refer to both racism and colorism.
15. I use the term racial attitudes as an umbrella term to refer to attitudes regarding both race and color.
16. I use the term interracial to refer to both race- and color-related dynamics.
17. In the text I use the term racial discrimination to refer to discrimination related to race or color.
18. For a discussion regarding causal mechanisms in interpretive social research, see Reed (2011).
19. For an overview of this literature, see de la Peña and Vázquez (2002).
20. For examples, see Friedlander (1975), Frye (1996), and Saldívar (2008).
21. There is very limited data on the mestizo population in Mexico. Mestizo is generally treated as a default category for non-
indians (Eshelman 2005). In 2010, roughly 7 percent of the population spoke an indigenous language
(http://www.inegi.org.mx), a common measure of indigenous status (Corona 2001; Fernández et al. 2002). This could put
the mestizo population somewhere around 90% according to Mexican census numbers. However, in a recent nationally
representative survey of race in Mexico, Martínez Casas et al. (2011) found that 64.3% of respondents identified as mestizo
when asked: “Do you consider yourself…mulatto, black, indigenous, mestizo, white or other?” Although this number is
well below 90%, since respondents were only able to mark one category, it is likely that some of those identifying in other
categories would also identify as mestizo, which would increase the self-identified mestizo population.
22. Furthermore, the dominant frame for analyzing inequality in Mexico is class, not race.

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23. Katzew (2004), Martínez Casas et al. (2011), Flores and Telles (2012); Villarreal (2010, 2012).
24. CONAPRED (2010, http://www.conapred.org.mx/redes/userfiles/files/Enadis- 2010-RG-Accss-002.pdf); Castellanos
Guerrero (2003); Cruz Carretero (1989); Friedlander (1975); Harvey (1998); Hernández-Cuevas (2001); Lewis (2000);
Martínez Maranato (1994); Martínez Novo (2006); Moreno Figueroa (2008a); Vaughn (2001).
25. Barth [1969]1998, p. 15
26. See, for example, Lamont and Molnár (2002); Nagel (1994); Wimmer (2008).
27. This emphasis reflects my broader plea for race scholars to pay attention to color (Sue 2009b).
28. Bonilla-Silva (1999); Cornell and Hartmann (1988); Loveman (1999); Omi and Winant (1994); Wimmer (2008).
29. Golash-Boza (2010); Harris (2009); Nakano Glenn (2009); Sue (2009a, 2009b); Telles (2004).
30. Wade (1997).
31. Alba (2009).
32. Gramsci (1971); Hanchard (1994); Jackman (1994); Omi and Winant (1994).
33. Jackman (1994).
34. For a critique, see Bailey (2009); Hasenbalg and Silva (1999); Sidanius and Pratto (1999); Twine (1998); Winant (1992).
35. Burdick (1998); Sawyer (2006); Twine (1998).
36. Gramsci (1971).
37. Foucault (1990); Roseberry (1996).
38. Eagleton (1991); Hanchard (1994).
39. Gramsci (1971).
40. Eagleton (1991); Hall (1986); Hanchard (1994).
41. Although Gramsci did not write about race, consistent with others (Hall 1986; Hanchard 1994; Omi and Winant 1994), I see
Gramsciʼs work as relevant to studies of racial ideology.
42. Bourdieu (2001); Sidanius and Pratto (1999).
43. In illuminating this process, I highlight the “gray” areas on the continuum of ideological acceptance; the relationship
between common sense and ideology is o entimes not dichotomous, with common sense perfectly aligning or
comprehensively conflicting with elite ideology (Swidler 2001).
44. Telles and Paschel (n.d.).
45. Telles (2004).
46. Tilley (2005).
47. For exceptions and critique, see Castellanos Guerrero (2000); Moreno Figueroa (2008a, 2010); Lomnitz (2005); Urías
Horacasitas (2007).
48. Aguirre Beltrán (1944).
49. Aguirre Beltrán [1946]1989; Martínez Montiel (1994).
50. Vaughn (2001). For overviews of the Afro-Mexican experience, see Martínez Montiel (1994); Muhammad (1995); Vinson and
Restall (2009); Vinson and Vaughn (2004).
51. Aguirre Beltrán (1946). The 1810 Spanish census marked the last o icial treatment of blacks as a separate category.
Recently, in a nationally representative survey, 3.1% of the Mexican population identified as either black or mulatto
(Martínez Casas et al. 2011).
52. Cope (1994); Katzew (2004); Knight (1990).
53. Cope (1994); Martínez (2009); Mörner (1967).
54. Mörner (1967).
55. Katzew (2004).
56. Cope (1994); Katzew (2004); Mörner (1967); Swarthout (2004).
57. Swarthout (2004).
58. Lomnitz (1992).
59. Lomnitz (2001).
60. Archer (2000); Martínez Casas et al. (2011).
61. Vázquez (2000).
62. Vanderwood (2000).
63. Bu ington and French (2000).
64. Tilley (2005).
65. Knight (1990); Stern (2003).
66. Stepan (1991).
67. Knight (1990).
68. Buchenau (2001); Knight (1990); Stern (2003). This practice occurred in other parts of Latin America (Golash-Boza 2011;
Loveman 2001; Telles 2004; Wright 1990).

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69. Buchenau (2001); Cook-Martín and Fitzgerald (2010).
70. Basave Benítez (1992); Bu ington (2000); Knight (1990); Stern (2003); Tilley (2005).
71. Bu ington and French (2000); Hart (2000).
72. Hart (2000).
73. Hart (2000).
74. Knight (1990).
75. Knight (1990).
76. Swarthout (2004).
77. Bu ington (2000); Knight (1990).
78. Swarthout (2004); Tilley (2005).
79. Across Latin America, mestizaje projects have held di erent meanings. In countries with significant indigenous
populations, mestizaje ideologies have emphasized acculturation, whereas in countries with large black populations
mestizaje has generally referred to the establishment of interracial unions (Golash-Boza 2011). In the case of Mexico,
conceptions of mestizaje have involved notions of both cultural and biological mixture (Moreno Figueroa 2011; Knight
1990; Swarthout 2004). My focus in this book is on the element of mestizaje that refers to interracial unions and mixed-
race o spring.
80. Implicitly, the nonracism ideology suggests an absence of colorism in Mexico. Therefore, my discussion of the nonracism
pillar includes dynamics associated with both racism and colorism.
81. These pillars do not represent all strands of twentieth-century national ideology. Most notably, indigenismo, an elite
ideology that promoted the “respectful” integration of indians into the national community, was also present (Knight
1990; Wade 1997).
82. Gonzalez Navarro (1970); Stepan (1991); Stern (2009); Vasconcelos ([1925]1997).
83. Knight (1990); Stern (2003); Swarthout (2004).
84. Basave Benítez (1992).
85. Appelbaum et al. (2003); Loveman (2001); Martínez-Echazábal (1998).
86. Delpar (2000); Paz (1985).
87. Gutiérrez (1999); vom Hau (2009).
88. Benjamin (2000); Gutiérrez (1999).
89. Delpar (2000).
90. Tilley (2005).
91. Only the 1921 Mexican national census asked about race, with the following results: indian race (29.16%); mixed race (raza
mezclada) (59.33%); white race (9.8%); other race or no reply (1%); and foreigner, without racial distinction (0.71%).
However, the Mexican government has fairly consistently made attempts to estimate the size of the indigenous population
based on cultural and, only recently, self-identification measures.
92. Lamont and Molnár (2002) define symbolic boundaries as “conceptual distinctions made by social actors to categorize
objects, people, practices, and even time and space” (p. 168).
93. Brading (1985). The use of territorial borders to construct di erence is a common nation-building strategy (Lamont and
Molnár 2002). Other Latin American leaders have used the United States as a symbolic backdrop for the construction of
their nationʼs ideology (Bailey 2009; Beck, Mijeski, and Stark 2011; Candelario 2007; Telles 2004; Wright 1990).
94. Vazquez (2000).
95. Béjar Navarro (1969); Knight (1990).
96. Golash-Boza (2011).
97. Deans-Smith and Katzew (2009).
98. The supposed disappearance of the black population was questioned in the writings of Gonzalo Aguirre Beltrán (1946,
 1958). As part of his research, Aguirre Beltrán studied a black population residing in the Costa Chica, a southern coastal
region lying within the states of Guerrero and Oaxaca.
99. Gonzalez-El Hilali (1997); Hernández Cuevas (2004, 2005).
100. Ho man (2007).
101. Some shi s have taken place, which I address in the conclusion.
102. CERD/C/260/Add.1. I discuss this report in further detail in chapter 7.
103. Appelbaum et al. (2003); Graham (1990); Telles and Flores (2013); Wade (1997).
104. Hernández Cuevas (2004, 2005); Knight (1990); Stepan (1991); Tilley (2005); Wade (1997).
105. When referencing these relationships I use the term intercolor couples and mixed-color families because Veracruzanos
think of these units as crossing color, not racial, boundaries.
106. According to the 2010 Census, the Veracruz metropolitan area has 742,169 inhabitants (www.inegi.org.mx). Compared
with other metro areas of similar size (i.e., 500,000–1 million inhabitants;

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www.inegi.org.mx/est/contenidos/espanol/metodologias/otras/zonas_met.pdf, Table 4), the number of people ages three
and over who speak an indigenous language, per 1,000 inhabitants, in the Veracruz metro area (7.4) lies close to the
middle of the range, according to 2010 census data. The metro areas of Aguascalientes (2.3), Saltillo (2.5), San Luis Potosí-
Soledad de G.S. (5.0), Xalapa (5.1), Morelia (5.5), and Querétaro (5.7) had lower numbers of people ages three and over
who spoke an indigenous language per 1,000 inhabitants, while Chihuahua (8.8), Reynosa-Río Bravo (10.9), Tampico
(11.8), Acapulco (14.5), Cuernavaca (17.4), and, most notably, Villahermosa (51.3) and Mérida (110.6) had higher rates than
Veracruz. As such, the number of indigenous language speakers per capita in the Veracruz metro area seems fairly
comparable to that of similarly sized urban areas across Mexico. Although these counts are surely underestimates given
the stigmatized nature of status, they give a rough comparative sense of estimates across metropolitan areas.
107. For details on the experience of Africans and their descendants in colonial Veracruz, see Carroll (2001); García Bustamante
(1987); Motta Sánchez (2001); Naveda Chávez-Hita (1987); Winfield Capitaine (1988).
108. In the early 1800s, many Cuban expatriates associated with the independence movement resided in Veracruz.
Furthermore, during the Cuban wars of independence, a number of Cuban refugees fled to Veracruz (García Díaz 2002;
García Díaz and Guerra Vilaboy 2002). During the largest wave of Cuban migration (1870–1900), approximately 2,716
Cuban individuals immigrated to Mexico; Veracruz received the largest number of these migrants (García Díaz 2002).
Despite their relatively small numbers, Cubans were highly visible in particular arenas such as baseball and popular music
(Flores Martos 2004; García Díaz 2002; Martínez Montiel 1993; Vaughn 2001).
109. African slavery, however, was not unique to Veracruz. African slaves migrated throughout Mexico, including the states now
known as Yucatán, Michoacán, Tlaxcala, México, Campeche, Chiapas, Puebla, Querétaro, Guerrero, and Oaxaca (Aguirre
Beltrán [1946]1989). Today, there is a visible African-origin presence in other regions of Mexico, most notably in the Costa
Chica, but also in Coahuila and Quintana Roo (Martínez Montiel 1994; Rout 1976).
110. The Port of Veracruz has been and continues to be an integral part of transnational networks, connecting a mercantile
flow between Mexico, the Caribbean Islands, Colombia, Venezuela, and Panama (García de León 1992). It has a particularly
strong connection with La Havana, Cuba. These sister ports have been intricately linked by commerce, culture, and human
migratory flows (García Díaz and Guerra Vilaboy 2002).
111. Vaughn (2001).
112. The 2006 Mexican census showed that 78.3% percent of Mexicans currently reside in urban areas (see Table 2 in Riosmena
and Massey 2012). Despite the potential that Veracruz holds for illuminating studies of race-color, the Port of Veracruz has
rarely been an object of anthropological study (Flores Martos 2004). The scant literature on the contemporary experience
of Mexicans of African descent focuses primarily on the Costa Chica (e.g., Aguirre Beltrán 1958; Altho 1994; Campos 2005;
Díaz Pérez et al. 1993; Flanet 1977; Gutiérrez Ávila 1988; Lewis 2000, 2001, 2004; Moedano Navarro 1988; Tibón 1961;
Vaughn 2001). The even more limited work on Veracruz has primarily focused on rural areas within the state (e.g., Cruz
Carretero 1989; Hall 2008; Martínez Maranto 1997), with only a few recent studies addressing urban Veracruz (e.g.,
Malcomson 2010; Sue 2010; Sue and Golash-Boza 2009).
113. Weiss (1994).
114. See Table A.1 for a breakdown of respondents by various characteristics.
115. The focus group method relies on group interaction while minimizing the direct influence of the researcher, which can
lead to greater emphasis on participantsʼ point of view (Krueger 1988; Langford and McDonagh 2003; Morgan 1988).
116. This justification has been used by others (Roth 2010; Telles 2004).
117. Color, like race, is socially constructed. I relied on my ethnographic experience to understand the Veracruz color schema
when making these classifications. See Table A.1 for a breakdown of respondentsʼ color.
118. Indígena is a socially acceptable term to refer to the indigenous population in Mexico. Indio/a, on the other hand, while
also referring to the indigenous population, is sometimes used with paternalistic or derogatory sentiment. When using the
 English translations, I use the term that best captures the original meaning. Outside of translation issues, I use indian or
indigenous depending on which term is best suited to the particular context (e.g., historical time period).
119. Baca Zinn (1979); Riessman (1987); Waters (1999).
120. Beoku-Betts (1994); Blee (2000); Zavella (1996).
121. Rhodes (1994); Martínez-Novo (2006). For a more detailed discussion, see Chavez (2008); Twine (2000).

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